


The More Things Change

by PrairieDawn



Series: I'm a Doctor, not a Deity [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU in which McCoy was affected by the galactic barrier instead of Liz Dehner, Brief mention of an illegal drug (spot it?), Gen, Is McOtty a thing?, Just remembered McCoy drops an f-bomb, Realistic consequences of radiation exposure, You don't have to squint anymore to see the implied Spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-06 07:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn/pseuds/PrairieDawn
Summary: After being transformed into a being of considerably less than infinite power, McCoy has been confined to the ship while the Admiralty decide what to do with him.





	1. The Admiral Visits

Chief Medical Officer’s Personal Log:

I guess it’s funny, but the thing that surprises me the most about the last few days is how different I don’t feel. It feels like I haven’t changed, but everything around me has, like the world around me, instead of coming at me in real time, happens in slow motion, almost in installments. It gives me far too much time to think. My newly perfect memory gives me newly perfect nightmares, delivered in exquisite detail, day and night. It has been four days since we hit the barrier, and I keep going over it in my head. What if I had gotten antipsychotics into Gary right away? What if I hadn’t missed the significance of the notation in his file that he had bipolar disorder as a teenager? That was a classic manic episode. Why didn’t I see it? Did I let my feelings about the man cloud my judgement? Can I even trust my judgement?

 

The door chimed. “Come in, Spock,” McCoy said.

“Have you completed your morning meditation already, Doctor?”

“Yes,” he replied, not quite lying.

“And for how long did you practice the memory sorting techniques we worked on last night?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Standard minutes or my minutes?”

“Standard minutes,” he replied, firmly.

“Seven,” he admitted. “I’m just not good at sitting still and doing nothing. And I had reports to finish. I have to figure out how to describe this whole situation to the brass so they won’t turn me into a guinea pig, I mean reassign me to an Earthside research facility as a consultant.”

Spock considered him briefly. “You still blame yourself for Gary Mitchell’s death.”

“It comes up,” he admitted. “I did murder him.”

“It was self defense. You had no other choice.”

McCoy got up from his chair to pace the three or four steps he had available for pacing in his room. “I should have realized he was having a manic episode sooner. If I had given him the antipsychotic myself, he wouldn’t have been able to influence me like he did Yosue. Maybe I could have explained it better.”

“There was no time. Gary...died...less than six hours after you ordered the dose.”

“I should have realized sooner.”

“Less than sixteen hours passed between the energy discharge itself and Gary’s death. There was not sufficient time.”

McCoy leaned against his table, fists clenched, willing himself not to sweep everything off it onto the floor. “If I’m so goddamn smart why didn’t I think of something that would save him? Was I blinded by the fact that I didn’t like him?”

Spock gave him one of those long suffering looks again. McCoy supposed that among his many duties, babysitting a petty god had not been one he had planned to undertake. “The changes in your processing speed have made you exponentially more adept at self recriminations.”

McCoy fidgeted with a sheaf of papers. “Jim blames me.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Bullshit, he doesn’t. I would if I were him. And speaking of Jim, if he ever decides to stop avoiding me he needs to be able to shield his mind. When he’s upset he just crashes right through. He’s not used to not touching me.”

“It is your responsibility to ensure that doesn’t happen, not his.”

“Well a god am I,” McCoy muttered bitterly. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Admiral Enwright is to rendezvous with the Enterprise in four hours. He wishes to debrief the senior staff on recent events. I recommend you spend at least an hour...half an hour,” he conceded, “before the admiral arrives, in meditation. Perhaps you will then be able to control your temper.”

“Right.”

 

To be fair, he tried. He tried to focus on his breath without focusing too hard. He tried to sort through his memories and emotions in an orderly fashion and shut them away into tidy boxes. He tried not to resent that half an hour for him was like five hours for Spock. He was lying to himself about that last. Between Spock’s processing speed already being two to four times human normal and the fact that how fast he read and how fast he thought weren’t really the same thing, it was probably more like an hour and a half, subjective time. He had never sat still and thought about nothing in particular for an hour and a half in his entire life. At least not while sober.

He was supposed to meet Jim for breakfast.

He collected his sunglasses and finger combed his hair without looking in the mirror. Looking in the mirror still spooked him too much. He looked like a boy, a spooky, glowing eyed boy. He made his way to the mess and ordered himself fakon and “eggs” and a stack of waffles, then picked up an orange as a concession to healthy eating. Lately it seemed like he was always hungry.

Kirk eyed his plate with envy. McCoy shrugged. “My metabolism’s gone up a bit.”

“So I see.”

He slid into the seat across from McCoy. “So I’m sure you heard we’re getting a visit from the Admiralty.”

“They couldn’t wait until our next visit to Earth.”

“To be fair, we don’t have one scheduled for months.” Kirk took a few bites of the low fat omelet he was eating in front of McCoy in an attempt to convince him he was eating healthy. 

“I don’t suppose he’s bringing any real food with him,” McCoy grumbled.

“I’d guess he didn’t. This thing’s really gotten them spooked.”

“It’s got me spooked. But.”

“But what?”

“I know I’m the last person you’d expect to say this, but I want to go back to the barrier. Alone."  
McCoy put his fork down and leaned forward. “Because that barrier out there didn’t just happen. It was put there by somebody, and that somebody killed ten people on this ship. I lost two people from my department, and I only have eight people in my department. Six, now. With your approval, I plan to request a Dr. M’Benga to replace Dr. Noel, by the way. He studied on Vulcan, has a lot of experience with alien physiology. I’m also cross training Rea Smith as a tech. She’s wasted as just a yeoman.” M’Benga would also be able to take his place better than anyone else if he had to disappear.

“I think you like her,” Kirk teased. His heart wasn’t in it the way it would have been just last week.

“No, I don’t,” he said tiredly. “Not like that anyway. She reminds me of Joanna.”

Kirk toyed with his food. “Look, if you think I blame you for Gary’s death,”

“You do. And you’d be right to.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Read my mind.”

McCoy picked up his tray and walked it over to the recycler to give himself a second to school the frustration away from his face. “Didn’t. I’ve never been an idiot, Jim. And if I have to act like one in order to convince you I’m not rummaging through your brain all the time this isn’t going to work.”

“Sorry. I just thought…”

“Yeah, I know. And no matter how careful I am you’re never going to be sure. Talk to Spock about it, please.”

Jim shook his head, a tiny, but telling gesture. “Why don’t you show me what to do?”

“Power’s not the same as competence. I’m not ready to try anything of the sort right now. I could ...break...you. Hell, I can’t even meditate right.” 

“Now there’s an image. You trying to meditate.”

“About as likely as you meditating. That I’d like to see.” He pulled off the sunglasses. Kirk flinched on seeing his glowing eyes, an effect McCoy needed but didn’t enjoy. “You telling me you’re more afraid of him than you are of me?”

Kirk threw up his hands. “It’s...complicated.”

Well of course it was complicated. If he could count the number of times he wanted to tell the two of them to just get a room already...

Admiral Enwright arrived just after the start of second shift. Kirk called the expected meeting. McCoy grabbed his tablet and headed for the conference room. He cheated his heart rate down a little on the way, made his palms stop sweating, had a little talk with his misbehaving adrenal glands.

When he arrived, the senior staff were already arrayed around the table while the admiral paced the clear space at the front of the room. “Good of you to join us, Doctor,” the admiral said. 

“It looks like I’m late to the party. Did I get the time wrong?”

“We needed to discuss certain matters in your absence. I’m sure you understand.” He looked him over again. “Please remove the sunglasses and take a seat.”

McCoy didn’t like it, but he did understand. He pulled off the sunglasses and pulled up a chair next to Spock. He decided he was going to count the times he took the high road in this meeting. “Of course. Gary’s behavior didn’t exactly inspire confidence.” One, one high road.

“Your captain mentions you wish to return to the barrier.”

“Only with appropriate precautions in place. I don’t want to lose any more people.”

“What do you hope to gain?”

Spock cut in, coming to his rescue. “The barrier does not appear to be a natural phenomenon. If, as seems likely, its makers are still maintaining it in some way, it behooves us to determine their intent if we can.”

“I see. I will take it under advisement. It also seems that if we were to understand the barrier, we might be able to make use of some technology we might find there. Doctor, exactly how did Lieutenant Mitchell meet his demise?”

“He was struck on the head by a large rock. Killed instantly, so far as I could tell.” This was the story they had all agreed upon. McCoy had not wanted to play fast and loose with the truth, but Kirk and Spock, who claimed to be incapable of falsehood (ha) agreed that, while the admiralty would be able to figure out eventually that McCoy could silently and undetectably kill almost anyone within several meters of him, they didn’t want that to be the first piece of information they had to process. Besides, they said, the unstable boulder Gary had knocked loose had indeed fallen on him while Kirk and Smith were holding McCoy’s body together.

“Was an autopsy performed?”

“I am told there was not. I was seriously injured and was not a party to any decisions that were made immediately after Lt. Mitchell’s death.”

“What happened to you?”

“Mr. Mitchell lifted me telekinetically and flung me against a large boulder. I suffered extensive injuries to my chest and leg. The captain and Yeoman Smith performed first aid at the scene. I spent the next several hours in surgery.”

“You look remarkably well, in that instance. As I am sure you know, I have been asked to determine the extent of changes to you in light of recent events, in order to determine if it is appropriate for you to remain in your position as chief medical officer of this ship.”

That was a dig. He was trying to make McCoy mad, to elicit any grandiose or dangerous behavior. High road. Taking the high road. “Of course sir. As I mentioned in my report, I believe I am capable of continuing my duties here, though I request permission to take some leave to visit Thunder Bay when it is convenient, possibly during our next refit. I have been corresponding with the staff there and believe that working with them for a few weeks would be beneficial for both myself and their program.”

The admiral ignored his assurances and moved to the next question on his list. “I would like to begin with the telekinesis, as it is the most potentially hazardous and least common ability you have developed. Is it under control?”

“I believe so. I am certain it is when I am awake. The ability as I manifest it is best suited for precision movement of small objects. As I can perceive objects in my environment down to nanometer scales, I have used it to augment traditional diagnostic techniques and encourage the healing of wounds, in particular the severe injury Mr. Kelso received to his trachea. I have also been studying engineering schematics, with Mr. Scott’s assistance. There may be times when I will be able to assist in emergency repairs without having to expose myself to hazards the engineering staff might encounter.”

“What is the largest object you can lift?”

“The heaviest object I have successfully lifted against ship’s gravity? A shuttlecraft.” At Kirk’s astonished look, he added, “Mr. Sulu supervised to ensure I wouldn’t break anything.”

Spock broke in. “There have been no suspicious occurrences on the ship as were reported with Mitchell. Surveillance of McCoy’s quarters does not reveal any unusual activity while he is sleeping.”

“Good to know,” McCoy said. He had set up the camera himself.

“And you are not tempted to play tricks on your crewmates or take revenge for slights, given that your actions would be untraceable?”

“I got that out of my system at the Academy, like most of us.”

“Dr. McCoy, I must ask these questions. Second, the telepathic ability. This is at the high end of the range of abilities seen in Starfleet personnel, but is not entirely unheard of. I am informed that you have already taken steps to ensure that you do not pose a hazard to your crewmates in this regard?”  
He wondered precisely what Spock had told the Admiral in that regard, as the Vulcan’s own abilities were not something he was inclined to discuss with the brass. “I have, Admiral.” He had also, to a significant extent, understated his range, a fact only Spock and Kirk knew at present. He could, if he wished, know the thoughts of anyone on the ship, though a few of them would be capable of detecting him if he did so.

“Gary Mitchell demonstrated an ability to create complex objects, including plants, out of thin air. Do you have this ability?”

“I cannot directly rearrange atoms like he could. I can, at need and with sufficient time, direct chemical reactions to produce specific molecules, but my medical synthesizer will do the same more efficiently than I can.”

The admiral pretended to be satisfied with his response. He expected suspicion from the admiral, that would be natural, but the feeling he was getting, bright enough to flood right past his shield, was more like ambition. He moved on. “The precognitive ability you mention is also unusual, but not out of the range of abilities found in some nonhuman personnel, as is your biocontrol and rapid healing, so I do not believe it is necessary to discuss these at this time. I will relay your requests to visit Thunder Bay and to study the barrier.”

He stepped forward the shake hands with Kirk and Sulu, and bowed slightly toward Spock and McCoy. “At this time, Starfleet Command considers it safest to leave you in your current position, among people with whom you have established relationships. It has not been determined whether you will be allowed to return to Earth. I have been asked to remind you that you remain within the Starfleet chain of command, and will be expected to follow whatever orders and accept whatever reassignments may be deemed appropriate in future.”

“Understood,” McCoy said, standing. “I remind you that I am within my rights as a citizen of Earth to resign my commission should I believe my services are no longer needed.”

“That right is not absolute for active duty personnel.”

McCoy bit back his retort. High road.

“I will submit a report with additional recommendations after consulting with my colleagues. It will be available within three standard days. Until that time, Dr. McCoy, you may continue your current duties, but you may not leave the ship.”


	2. Rubik's Buoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes.
> 
> "The Corbomite Maneuver" forms the B plot for this episode in the series. Things may go a little differently.

“Jim, I know we’ve all been focused on all this craziness that’s been going on with me, but the fact remains you are way overdue for your quarterly physical.” Kirk and McCoy were sitting in the mess, Kirk consuming a pile of fat and carbs in the form of a burger and a large pile of fries with ketchup, which did not count as a vegetable. McCoy had started his meal with a sensible plate of (ersatz) roast chicken, green beans, and red potatoes, but after he had finished his first dinner and a second, chili and cornbread, he had given up on slaking his appetite with healthy choices and was consuming an amount of chocolate ice cream he would have considered obscene mere weeks ago.

“You’re eating like a teenaged athlete, Bones,” Kirk remarked, teasing jealousy in his voice, then added with concern, “Your appetite, it’s stable, isn’t it?”

“It’s fine. Nothing’s changing anymore. I did help Scotty with some repairs to the starboard warp nacelle earlier though. Probably why I’m so hungry.”

Jim waved a fry at him pointedly. “You don’t have to volunteer as a portable tractor beam. We have those in stores.”

“I’m getting a good practical understanding of Engineering, in case we need me to have it some time. Much less trouble in the long run than having to fish it out of Scotty’s head in the middle of a crisis.” He took another bite of ice cream, frowned slightly. His heightened senses had made it all the easier to tell the difference between synthesized food and the real thing. “Look, I am the Chief Medical Officer aboard this ship, but it turns out I’m also an addition to the sensor suite and a tractor beam that can follow orders." 

“Heh,” Kirk scoffed.

McCoy plowed ahead. “And if I can keep someone else on this ship from getting killed working in hazardous conditions, I’m going to do it.”

“Bones, you are the ultimate pragmatist.”

“Yes, and you are avoiding your physical. Again.”

“Touche. I’ll see you…”

“At 1400 hours. And if you don’t show up, I’ll have Spock escort you to Sickbay and you can leave Sulu in charge on the bridge.”

 

Kirk was finishing his cardiac challenge when the alert light came on in Sickbay. McCoy paused a moment to take the emotional temperature on the bridge, decided the situation wasn’t that urgent, and ignored the light right along with Kirk’s whining. If a little exercise was killing him, maybe he ought to up his physical training schedule. And not eat so many fries.

The twenty minute cardiac challenge complete, he told Kirk he could stop and logged the data. The captain had his shirt off, unnecessary in his opinion, but the man did like to show off his hard won physique. Probably trying to prove he didn’t need to come in for a physical every three months. The Captain’s medical file contained enough confidential information for McCoy to know how Kirk had come by his distaste for medical facilities, but he had never chosen to discuss it in detail with McCoy, and now would be about the worst possible time to broach the subject.

Kirk noticed the red panel flashing when he got up off the table. He shot McCoy a dirty look, then flipped on the vid connection to the bridge. Without bothering to throw a shirt on first, the big flirt. “Kirk here,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Have a look at this, Captain,” Spock replied, switching the display to the viewscreen, where a candy colored cube rotated. The object was blocking the ship’s path forward.

Kirk turned to gather his belongings and snapped, “You could see the alarm lights flashing from there, McCoy, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I finally finished a physical on you, didn’t I,” McCoy shouted after the Captains receding back. “What am I, a doctor or a moon shuttle conductor?” Even he had to admit that one wasn’t one of his best. It was a good thing Kirk was long gone.

“If I jumped every time a light came on around here I’d end up talking to myself,” he muttered. He had to wonder, though, were his powers making him cocky? Would he have been as blase about the alarm if he hadn’t known it was unlikely to be anything urgent? (1)

His comm chimed. “Sickbay.”

“Life sciences to the bridge,” Spock said.

McCoy took a moment to put away his tools before heading up to the bridge. The cube looked on the bridge viewscreen much as it had on the small screen in sickbay, paneled in different primary colors, spinning and suffused with light. He felt for it. It was farther away than he’d thought. The viewscreen tricked the eye into thinking the cube was a small object close at hand, when it was actually a large object a fair distance from the ship.

Uhura wasn’t getting any communications from it, and it was a good kilometer and a half in front of them, a bit out of his range. Kirk circled the bridge, stopping in front of Scotty.

“Mode of power.” Scotty said, “Beats me what makes it go.”

“I’ll buy speculation,” Kirk replied.

“I’d sell it if I had any. That’s a solid cube. How something like that can see us coming, block us, move when we move, it beats me.”

“Life sciences?”

McCoy studied the block. “It’s solid, but I’m pretty sure it’s not uniform. Will it let us move in to half a klick?”

“Sulu, bring us in closer. Slowly.” The ship crept toward the cube and stopped, half a kilometer away.

“It’s not going to move. If we try to pass it, we’re going to run right into it,” Sulu warned.

McCoy strained to pick out more detail. It did seem like the cube was solid all the way through, but it wasn’t solid in a simple way. It was gridded. Cubes within cubes, squares overlapping squares. “Scotty, you want to look at what I have, see if you can make some sense of it?”

“Aye,” Scotty said, “toss it my way.”

McCoy focused briefly on the back of Scott’s head, bringing the engineer’s mental pattern into focus, and projected the image of what he perceived of the cube.

“Got it. Hold it just like that for a bit.” Scotty paused to consider the image. “Looks like a data crystal of some kind. Solid, but slight variations in density. Too bad you can’t get a handle on the material.”

McCoy let the image go. Kirk and Spock were both staring at him and Scotty like they’d caught them kissing behind the bleachers. “What?” Scotty and McCoy said in unison.

Kelso turned to the Captain. “Sir, are we just going to let it hold us here?” His voice broke on the last word, and he tried to cover a cough.

Kirk took his chair. “For now, yes, Mr. Kelso. How’s the throat, by the way?”

“Fine, sir, just scratchy.”

The cube didn’t have any plans to go anywhere. After about another half hour of watching the fool thing spin, Kirk turned over the con to Spock. “Life sciences, with me.” McCoy followed him out.

The turbolift doors slid closed. “What the hell was that?” Kirk snapped. “I thought you didn’t want to damage people. Scotty not people? Or do you have some other reason you’re holding me at arm’s length?”

Well, shit, this was complicated. He was just throwing pictures around, nothing really invasive like...he was beginning to understand Spock’s insistence on Vulcan terminology, which would not help him explain anything to Kirk, unfortunately. “You’re the Captain. I didn’t want anyone to have to worry about you being compromised,” he settled on, lamely. He pulled the lever that stopped the lift. “But you’re right. You and Spock meet me in my quarters at shift change. You OK with having Sulu babysit the cube?”

“As long as it doesn’t do anything else by then,” Kirk said.

“What do you think it is?”

Kirk thought a moment. “When we move toward it, it backs up only to a specific location. When we withdraw, it holds its ground. When we try to go around it, it interposes itself. We can go only so far in one direction, and no farther. I think it’s marking a border. Someone’s territory.”

“Patrolling an entire border with a single object. That’s...actually kind of elegant,” McCoy said. “Though I wonder what would happen if it were presented with two ships. Scotty and I could take a shuttlecraft out,” he began.

“Yeah, like I’m letting the two of you take out a shuttlecraft unsupervised.”

 

McCoy’s door chimed at 2000 hours. “Come,” he said. He pulled out a fifth of bourbon and glasses, some crackers and something that had tasted a lot like olive tapenade when he bought it on the planet with the purple ocean. He ran a scanner quickly over the label and put it through the universal translator to assure himself that it contained no animal products or Vulcan specific toxins. 

The two of them arrived together, still in uniform and all business. “Sulu has the bridge. The cube is still sitting five hundred meters off the bow, unchanged for the last...what is it?”

Spock replied, “Five hours, twenty minutes, sixteen seconds.”

“So, we’re just going to wait it out, then?” McCoy asked.

“If nothing changes by the start of Alpha shift, I’ll call senior staff in to discuss our next course of action. Right now I’d like to discuss longer term strategy.”

Kirk pulled up a chair. McCoy offered him a glass, which he waved off. “I know full well neither of you is capable of getting any effect from that. You’ll have me at a disadvantage.”

“Oh I still get one,” McCoy disagreed, pouring himself a shot. “I get the effect of getting to taste something that didn’t come out of that damn food replicator.”

“Point taken.” Kirk leaned rakishly forward in his chair, such that McCoy wondered briefly which of them he was flirting with this time. As if it weren’t obvious. “Now, I’ve been thinking. I know you have some issues with this thing you’ve got going on in your head, Bones, and you,” he swung around to face Spock, “Your whole culture has some serious hangups itself--I went back and reread some Federation history. The classified stuff about Archer and NX-01 was fascinating,” he added, mimicking Spock’s tone.

Spock twitched uncomfortably, and Kirk backed off. “Sorry. But what I see is a comm system that’s immune to ion storms and hostile interference. I’m not saying you should try to put together a network of 430 people, but senior staff, maybe. Me, Spock, Uhura, Scotty, Sulu, and Kelso. Can we get something like that up and running?”

McCoy leaned back in his chair. “Theoretically, it would be possible. I’ve been catching up on my reading too, Spock. It’s one of many reasons I’d like to get to Thunder Bay. When esper function shows up strongly in humans, its parameters aren’t quite the same as for Vulcans. All species are a little different, just like Vulcans can see a couple of shades into the infrared, but don’t see violet.”

“Really? You never mentioned that.” Kirk said.

“It has not yet proved relevant,” Spock supplied. “Besides, I can see violet.”

“But what’s at Thunder Bay?” Kirk asked.

“It’s mostly a tourist town, but there’s a small medical and cultural research facility there for, I’d say human espers, but their mission statement includes espers from any species or cultural group that doesn’t usually produce them. It’s called the Herald Foundation, if you want to look it up. I’ve sent some correspondence to the director--at this time, I haven’t suggested that I’ve experienced a change more severe than that of several other Starfleet personnel we’ve sent his way over the last decade or so, and I’ve let him know that the entire situation is classified--he’s got clearance for as much as I’ve told him.”

“In the meantime,” Spock prompted.

“In the meantime it would be possible to set up a relay that would work for distances less than a klick, but it would have to run through me. I don’t know whether I could link you directly to, say, Mr. Sulu.” And since ship to surface ranged from 1500 to 5000 klicks, depending on planetary surface gravity, that seriously limited the usefulness of that plan. 

Spock considered, hands steepled. “Theoretically, it would be possible to produce a link that would connect members of a small group over interstellar distances. It is occasionally done in the Vulcan Expeditionary Forces.”

It was McCoy’s turn to quirk an eyebrow, then belatedly realize he was picking up the hobgoblin’s mannerisms. “Really. That does not appear in the literature.”

“Vulcan High Command considers that capability to be classified.”

“Can the two of you figure out how to pull it off?”

McCoy interjected, “There would be some risk, particularly to Uhura.”

“Why? Because she’s a woman?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous, that has nothing to do with it. First, she’s already esper.”

“Really?”

“Right on the edge. 204. Her rating is a bit higher than mine was before this mess. But it means that significant telepathic contact could kick her rating up enough that she’d have to do something about it. And that risk is higher because she’s only twenty-two. It’s still not likely, ten, maybe fifteen percent, but it’s a real risk.”

“Understood. I don’t intend to order anyone to participate, if this even works. I’d suggest we start with the three of us,”

“And Scotty I think,” McCoy added.

Spock was conspicuously silent. “What say you, Science Officer?” Kirk asked.

Spock remained silent for a moment longer. “I am uncertain that either of you understand the reasons behind our “cultural hangups” as you so elegantly describe them. The link I mentioned, one that extends over long distances, requires an intimate connection between individuals that is not, and cannot be entered into for merely professional reasons. I believe,” he paused, parsing his words carefully, “I believe that you and I, Jim, share the capacity for maintaining such a link, as does McCoy with you, myself, and I begin to believe Mr. Scott, though I would never have suspected such before.”

“So we just don’t know Kelso, Sulu and Uhura well enough yet?”

“Not to ask them to participate in a union of this significance, no. And I believe neither of you are truly cognizant of what you intend. It is not equivalent to installing a comlink. We would be aware, at some level, of each other’s well being at all times. It would be difficult for us to keep secrets from each other, especially for you, Jim.”

This all sounded like anathema to Spock’s entire, solitude seeking personality. McCoy was beginning to wonder why he had even mentioned the possibility. Was this something he wanted? Needed at some level he was unwilling to explain?

“It would make it harder for Section 31 to disappear my sorry ass,” McCoy said, quietly. Section 31 was little more than a rumor in Starfleet. He hadn’t even been sure the department existed until he had mostly inadvertently lifted the information out of the Admiral’s unshielded mind.

“They’re real?” Kirk said. McCoy nodded grimly.

Spock steepled his hands on the table and took one of those slow breaths McCoy now recognized as a centering exercise. “I suggest we begin, Captain, by determining whether you are capable of learning to shield your mind, should you need to. This may serve as a test of your...educability, let us say, and our compatibility for such a link.”

“Jim, have you eaten?” McCoy interjected.

“Before I came.”

“Just a second, then.” He ran his medical tricorder over the Captain. “Blood sugar looks good. I’ll tap you if his ICP gets too high.” Again, something he could have checked more directly, but why bother when he had a machine that would give him an answer that would upload directly into Kirk's chart?

“I appreciate your concern, doctor, but...”

“But nothing, Spock. Don’t forget I know exactly how much of a kitbash this week has been for you, too. I’ll give you as much privacy as I can, but I will be monitoring his vitals from my desk.”

“Kitbash?”

“You know, what Scotty and I do all the time. Land ourselves in situations for which we are utterly unqualified, then pull miracles out of our asses with nothing but baking soda and zip ties.”

“Indeed.”

McCoy left the two of them to their business, leaving the medical tricorder set up on the table with an alarm. He had some more charts to write and a follow up letter for Tom up at Thunder Bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Actually, he did. This bit is cadged almost word for word from the original episode, in which McCoy had no idea why the warning light was going off and ignored it anyway.
> 
> I have made reference to the Herald Foundation and Thunder Bay, obliquely, in other works. I'm thinking we might visit for Christmas. Because pine trees and moose are fun, and there's this whole St. Gabriel the Archangel thing going on there that kind of fits, thematically, with the season.
> 
> Also, I'm trying to get a sense of how people with sensory and/or motor capabilities that differ markedly from their colleagues might actually use them, rather than just stomping around like gods or engaging in angsty whining. (Like in the semi-silly short with Trelane in it) Is this coming across at all?


	3. Radiation Poisoning:  It's a Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, remember that bit when the cube exposes the Enterprise to near lethal amounts of shortwave radiation while the bridge crew dick around? Well, actions have consequences.

Morning. Early. Contrary to popular belief, McCoy did still sleep, and when he did, he slept deeply and yet remained aware, at the edge of consciousness, of the ship and its surroundings, including that stupid spinning cube that had begun to torment him like a dripping faucet by about 0300 hours. As though he were keeping watch, whether he wanted to or not. None of that kept him from having dreams both more vivid and more confusing than he had ever had as a mere human. And better remembered. He really ought to write them down, just in case there were any patterns to be seen in them.

Kirk and Spock had sat at his table, very literally lost in each other for sixteen minutes--much, much longer than it ought to have taken for a transfer of knowledge that should have been straightforward--before he made them get up and go back to their cabins, or one of their cabins, he barely cared at this point and in the end he had thrown a couple of bottles of sweetened electrolyte solution at Kirk and told them in no uncertain terms to get a room.

He still had a couple of hours before shift change and the staff meeting. After showering and changing, he sat down to try to meditate and made it a full twelve minutes. Okay, so he’d try for twenty minutes tomorrow. It was, he decided, a learning curve.

 

They were all ranged around the conference table now, the six of them: Kirk, wearing a shiny new shield and a very self-satisfied expression that made McCoy glad he had it; Spock looking as inscrutable as always, though like perhaps he’d gotten a decent night’s sleep for a change; Sulu as nonchalant as always, an act, but one well rehearsed; Kelso seated primly in his place, fully recovered physically, but his always fragile confidence a bit more fragile still; and Uhura, looking as usual like she could not believe the random act of statistical violence that had left her the only female on the bridge crew of this particular ship. A 55/45 male/female ratio across the Fleet still worked out to the occasional crew with a serious gender imbalance, made worse in their case by the promotion of their Number One to her own command.

“So what we know is that it will not let us move forward and it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Plan of action?”

“It could be a border guard, as we discussed earlier,” McCoy noted. 

“Or possibly a capture device,” suggested Kelso.

“Like flypaper,” Spock agreed.

“If it’s a border guard, it should let us go if we try to leave. If not, it will follow us,” Uhura said.

“So our best course of action is to back up, slowly and indirectly, and then try to get around it,” Kirk summarized. “Kelso, plot us a spiral course headed away from the cube.”

“Aye Captain,” Kelso said.

Sulu tapped a comm. “Aye, sir. Helmsman to Engine Room. Stand by. All decks alert. We’re going to try pulling away.”

 

McCoy returned to sickbay. He shouldn’t be able to feel the ship’s acceleration down here. The inertial dampeners on the bridge were deliberately set to provide feedback to the helm. It had been found that both helmsmen and captains made better decisions when that was the case. Sickbay and engineering, however, tended to be much better protected from shocks.

He could feel it anyway. In the pit of his stomach, dimly. The radiation warning in sickbay began to flash. X-rays and gamma, from outside the ship. Rising. The cube was closer, only a little over 100 meters away.

He put down his stylus and rested his hands flat on his desk in front of him, closing his eyes. What the hell was going on with that cube? He felt outward, past the ship’s decking, outside the hull, through the ship’s shields, which did actually slow him down a little. He had to pause and examine their resonance pattern before fixing his attention carefully past them, conscientiously checking them from the other side after he had passed, to make sure he hadn’t damaged them. The radiation had reduced their efficiency on all sides that faced the cube.

The ship increased speed. And again. The cube closed. It was too big and heavy for him to budge, but at this range he could make out details of its intricate circuitry and even enough chemical properties that Scotty might have a shot at identifying what it was actually made of. He noticed the additional speed increases, the radiation levels rising. He made a note to speak to the Captain about not exposing the crew to deadly radiation on a regular basis. This encounter was going to be a massive headache when they got through the...fuck! Phaser energy poured into the cube, shattering the device at the molecular level, and it blew apart, liquefied and vaporized remnants impacting the shield and causing the ship to shudder violently.

When the shaking stopped, he returned his attention to the viewer on his desk. “Maximum hazardous radiation load and time of exposure,” he said to the computer.

Mmm hmm. Kirk did realize that the “lethal dose” of radiation was calculated by the ship’s computer as the amount that would have at least a 50% chance of killing the most radiation sensitive person on the ship, didn’t he? There would be consequences to everyone’s health and to his schedule caused by his delay in destroying the thing.

“Computer, queue all personnel in order of susceptibility to shortwave radiation. Group by tens and assign each group of ten to a fifteen minute interval starting now. Transmit orders to all staff to appear for treatment during their assigned interval. Make note that failure to appear will cause severe symptoms and attach radiation sickness info sheet.”  
“Working,” the computer said.

He had not heard any reports of serious injuries, fortunately. He sent the order for off duty medical staff to report to sickbay himself, warmed up the antiproton chamber and set the synthesizer to produce drugs that would help restore sensitive tissues, then put an order for the synthesis of ondansetron and THC for the inevitable nausea and vomiting.

“Antiproton therapy group one, assemble in the treatment room and disrobe. Now is not the time for modesty, we have to get 430 people through this machine in the next twelve hours. You will all be receiving ten minutes of treatment, followed by a protective hypospray. You will be expected to return for a second, longer treatment within the next week.”

While the girls, for girls they were, the youngest and smallest on the ship, a couple of them not even eighteen he suspected, gathered in the chamber, he checked the rest of sickbay. Chapel was already triaging the few injuries, all minor by the look of them, sprained ankles, bumps and bruises, one broken wrist.

Once the first group were basking in healing rays, he called up to the bridge. “Captain, when you have a chance, a word.”

“I’ll be down as soon as I can,” Kirk replied. Putting him off.

Well if the mountain would not come to Mohammed…Yosue walked in at that moment. “I’m glad to see you,” he said. “Tissue restoring cocktail is in the synthesizer, I’ve got the first batch of ten in the microwave, can you run the next group through while I have a talk with the cowboy on the bridge?”

“Of course, sir,” Yosue said.

“Make sure Chapel’s in the next group. I need her up and running, not sick. You go in when she comes out. Back in a titch,” he replied, heading out the door.

 

He waited, fuming, on the bridge until Kirk finished with his last round of orders, then followed him into the turbolift.

“Your timing is lousy, Jim,” he began. “You realize that there’s a whole range of exposure before radiation levels become lethal, don’t you? It’s not a switch that turns on and off. You’ve condemned all of us to suffer radiation sickness for days.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Expect headache, low grade fever, nausea, vomiting and diarrhea starting over the next couple three hours. How is Kelso doing up on the bridge, by the way? He seemed tired this morning.”

“He seems fine. He was a bit slow on the phasers though. I hoped to run efficiency exercises with them, but now that you’re running them all through sickbay…”

“I thought you’d all appreciate having a better than even chance of not having your hair fall out. Do me a favor and keep him on light duty for the next week. And make sure he gets in for treatment on schedule. You too.”

“I think he needs to get back in the game, not lie around,” Kirk argued.

“And when you show me your medical degree I’ll take your opinion on the health of the crew more seriously.”

“Aren’t you the one who said that suffering is good for the soul?”

“I never said that, though I plan to in about two hours when you’re throwing up your breakfast. Now if you’ll excuse me, I plan to spend the next twelve hours dousing naked crewman with antiproton rays.”

“Sounds like fun,” Kirk said.

“Go tell it to your Vulcan.”

He had only just gotten back to sickbay when the general quarters alarm sounded again. “Computer. Note general quarters. Recompute appointment times for remaining crew once general quarters is cancelled.”

He hit the intercom to the treatment room. “You all have three minutes left in there. Unless the Captain orders me to let you out, you’re finishing your time.”

Three minutes later, as the second group of young ladies plus one very red faced Kelso threw their clothes on, the ship rocked again. “What now?” McCoy complained. This was shaping up to be quite the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Research into the effects of moderate to severe radiation exposure led to the hijacking of this chapter with medical stuff and yelling at Kirk.
> 
> Also, I talked this one out with Dr. Mother in Law and checked the Mayo website. I settled on assuming an exposure of about 6Gy.


	4. Poker Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ship that launched the probe destroyed by the Enterprise appears and threatens the Enterprise with destruction.
> 
> This chapter closely parallels, but is not identical to events in the original episode. The following chapter will radically depart from the text.

The thing outside the ship was enormous. He couldn’t make out any details inside it, it was much too far away, but it was huge. McCoy grabbed his bag, threw a handful of ampules of antiradiation cocktail and antiemetics into it and shouted to Chapel and Yosue, “I’m going around the ship to get shots into everyone at their stations. I’ll send you anyone showing symptoms. Get them into the chamber for ten minutes minimum.”

He headed for the phaser array first, hitting the four crewmen stationed there with shots, then moved on to Engineering to catch Scotty. “You’re not queasy yet,” McCoy said, looking the Engineer over. “I’ll give you the antiemetic anyway, you will be before long, by the look of you.” He gave Scotty both shots, then circled Engineering to catch everyone else. “This reduces the damage, buys you time. You all still need to make it up to sickbay for proper treatment as soon as you get a break. Everyone on the ship got between 3 and 6 Grays. Those exposures can kill you without treatment.”

Scott looked down at his panel. “Warp drive is offline, as are weapons. What the hell happened?” He dashed from instrument panel to instrument panel, pushing buttons and reading displays along with two female crewmen. “I don’t see a reason for it. It’s as if they’ve been turned off.”

The ship shuddered. “Something exploded just outside the ship,” McCoy said. “I was watching you, so I didn’t notice whether it was ours. I’m heading to the bridge.”

Before he had a chance to move, a strident male voice rang out from the comm system. “Your recorder marker has been destroyed,” it said. “You have been examined.” 

Scott and his people paused a moment in their activity to listen. The voice continued, “Your ship must be destroyed. We make assumption you have a deity or deities or some such beliefs which comfort you. We therefore grant you ten earth time periods known as minutes to make preparations.”

“You have got to be kidding me! Of all the arrogant, small minded...what is with these aliens think they have a license to blow anybody out of the sky just because they can? Not on my watch!” He was already running up the hallway to the turbolift.

“Bridge!” he told it. He tapped his fingers impatiently against the rail for the whole thirty seconds the ride took. Thirty seconds is five percent of ten minutes, I’ve a right to be impatient, he told himself. The doors opened onto the bridge.

He walked quietly over to the Captain. “Balok’s message,” he said, “It was heard all over the ship.”

“I’m going to address them. See what you can find out.” He took his chair to activate the comm. “Captain to crew,” he began.

McCoy divided his attention between the Captain’s undoubtedly inspirational speech and his own attempt to figure out if he could perceive anything useful from the alien vessel at admittedly ten times his usual range.

Kirk continued, “Those of you who have served for long on this vessel have encountered alien life forms.”

I should think so, McCoy thought wryly. A good chunk of them had slept with alien life forms, judging from the number who had contracted alien STDs. He gave reaching out in the direction of the gigantic ship another shot, but could feel nothing but the general sense of a large object, metalloorganic, complex, nothing the sensors couldn’t detect already. He couldn’t even sense its crew. Huh. 

“You know the greatest danger facing us is ourselves,” Kirk continued, “and irrational fear of the unknown. But there’ no such thing as the unknown, only things temporarily hidden, temporarily not understood.” While the captain waxed eloquent, McCoy took the opportunity to walk the bridge, dosing the crew with antiradiation sickness cocktail. He switched out the ampule for Spock’s somewhat different formula before catching him with the hypospray.

It seemed to McCoy that the fear of a giant spaceship that had just clearly stated its intention to destroy you wasn’t exactly irrational. He crossed the bridge to stand near Spock. “What size crew would expect a ship that size to have?” he muttered, so as not to break into the Captain’s soliloquy.

“Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands.”

“I should be able to sense that many, right?”

“I believe so Doctor. You should be able, at that range, to perceive a crew of one hundred or so, though not as individuals, I suspect.”

“I got nothin’.”

“I suppose that places an upper limit on the size of the crew.”

“...understand our motives. All decks stand by. Captain out.” Kirk concluded, then flipped off the comm. “Spock, Dr. McCoy, anything on sensors?”

“Nothing new, other than it would appear that the crew of the vessel likely does not exceed one hundred souls.”

“Interesting, but not exactly helpful. Ship to ship,” he said.

“Hailing frequencies open, sir,” Uhura responded.

Kirk returned to his seat to open the comm again. “This is the Captain of the USS Enterprise. We came seeking friendship, but we have no wish to trespass. To demonstrate our goodwill, our vessel will now return the way it came. We...” A rising wave of interference continued until Uhura cut the comm.

“Lay a course in ahead, Mr Kelso,” Kirk said.

“Laying in a course, aye,” Kelso replied, and turned to his station. “Plotted and laid in, sir.”

“Engage, warp factor one.”

Sulu turned back to the Captain. “There’s no response from the helm, sir. All engine systems still show dead.”

“And weapons systems,” added Spock.

“Switching to screen,” Spock said. “I believe I have a visual.”

McCoy turned to watch the viewscreen. An alien face replaced the image of the pollen grain shaped ship. It spoke, or at least, a voice emerged from the comm. McCoy couldn’t see its lips move. “You are wasting time and effort,” the voice said. “There is no escape.” The head turned slowly from left to right. It hitched at little, just past the midline, putting McCoy to mind of a rubber head on a stick. “You have eight Earth minutes left.”

“Is that a rubber head on a stick?” McCoy said. (1)

Scotty frowned at the image. “I do believe you’re right, Doctor. That is a rubber head on a stick. Could we be looking at an unmanned ship?” Under Scotty’s concern lay no small amount of appreciation for the possibility that a ship that size could run itself. Down, boy, McCoy thought.

“I was curious to see how they appeared. It is possible that an image was provided for our consumption.”

Kelso had not yet spoken, but his rapid breathing and slightly shaking hand on the console didn’t bode well. McCoy had been concerned that he’d returned to duty too soon. He took a knee beside the navigation console to speak quietly to the younger man. “We’ll figure this out. We always have before.”

Kelso nodded without conviction. “Can’t you do something?”

McCoy replied, “I am racking my brain to figure out how. You just keep your focus on navigation, son.”

“Ship to ship,” Kirk said again.

When Uhura opened a channel again, he began, “This is the captain of the Enterprise speaking. It is the custom of Earth people to try and avoid misunderstanding whenever possible. We destroyed your space buoy as a simple act of self-preservation. When we attempted to move away from it, it emitted radiation harmful to our species. If you’ve examined our ship and its tapes you know this to be true.”

And again, the captain’s words were cut off unfinished by rising feedback that required Uhura to close the channel. Whoever was over there, living being or artificial intelligence, it was behaving like petulant child. 

McCoy stepped forward. “Beam me over with Scotty. Between the two of us we may be able to get to the bottom of this,” he suggested.

Scotty shook his head. “Transporters are offline along with most of the rest of our systems.”

The rubber faced jackass came back on screen to inform them that they had seven minutes, as if they couldn’t tell time.

Sulu sat at his station reading off time updates at thirty second intervals until McCoy wanted to slap him. Kirk and Scotty, official hyperactives on the bridge crew, paced. “What if we...no,” Kirk said. Spock stared into the sensor display as if it might give him different news. McCoy tried to stretch his senses out further, to gain any information about the ship or its crew they could use, but it was no use. For a god, he was an impotent god.

Soctty stopped in front of Sulu’s station. “You have an annoying fascination for timepieces, Mr. Sulu,” he said.

Spock crossed the room. “Jim,” Spock said as the captain passed by him on one of his trips around the bridge.

“What’s the matter with them out there,” Kirk complained. “They must know we mean them no harm.”

“They must be aware by now that we are totally incapable of it,” Spock agreed. McCoy could feel the slight connection between the two of them that went beyond the physical as they passed by. That was, he was pretty sure, new. Maybe Spock could help focus Jim’s brilliance in time for him to pull a miracle out of his ass.

“There must be something to do,” Kirk said. “Something I’ve overlooked.”

Spock considered. “In chess, when one is outmatched, the game is over. Checkmate.”

No, no, no, what was the pointy eared fatalistic fool thinking? Unless he was pushing Kirk to disagree with him.

“Is that your best recommendation?” Kirk snapped back. Okay, now we’re getting somewhere, make him mad, not scared. Get him thinking. Nice one, hobgoblin.

“I’m sor...I regret that I can find no other alternative.” Oh.

Kelso spoke next, “If they’re so powerful, why show us a false face? Why the bluff?”

“Three minutes,” Balok’s voice interjected, deep, slightly mechanical, and grim. Overcompensating? 

“Maybe they’re not as confident and all knowing as they want us to think they are,” Spock said, suddenly thoughtful.

Kirk almost smiled. “We’re not playing chess, Spock.” He made a fist, as though capturing a thought in his hand. “We’re playing poker.” He turned toward Uhura. “Ship to ship.”

“Hailing frequencies open, sir.”

Kirk arranged himself more comfortably in his chair. “This is the captain of the Enterprise,” he said. “Our respect for other life forms requires that we give you this warning. One critical item of information that has never been incorporated into the memory banks of any Earth ship. Since the early years of space exploration, Earth vessels have had incorporated into them a substance known as corbomite. It is a material and a device that prevents attack on us. If any destructive energy touches our vessel, a reverse reaction of equal strength is created, destroying…”

Balok cut him off. “You now have two minutes.”

“Destroying the attacker. It may interest you to know that since the initial use of corbomite more than two of our centuries ago, no attacking vessel has survived the attempt. Death has little meaning to us. If it has none to you, then attack us now. We grow annoyed at your foolishness.” He gestured to Uhura to cut the connection. 

The giant spherical ship did not move, nor did Balok’s rubber interlocutor make an additional appearance. That was, McCoy decided, the most beautiful piece of bullshit he had heard in a long time. Spock shook his head. “However this turns out, well played.” He paused, then spoke louder. “I regret not having learned more about this Balok,” he said. “In some manner he was reminiscent of my father.”

“Then may heaven have helped your mother,” Scott quipped.

“Quite the contrary,” he replied. “She considers herself a very fortunate Earth woman.”

“If anyone’s interested,” Sulu noted, “Thirty seconds.” A few more moments of silence, and Sulu began a slow, and entirely unnecessary countdown. No one stopped him. At one, everyone braced slightly, uselessly, against whatever might come next. Nothing did. For five more seconds. Ten.

Spock turned to Kirk. “A very interesting game, this poker.”

“It does have its advantages over chess.”

They were still measuring their words carefully, given that anything any of them said might be the last thing they said.

“Love to teach it to you sometime,” McCoy offered.

“Only because you’d cheat,” Kirk replied.

McCoy’s comeback was interrupted by the stentorian voice of Balok. “This is the commander of the Fesarius. “

“Here it comes,” Kirk said. “Is it raise or call?”

“The destruction of your vessel has been delayed. We will relent in your destruction only if we have proof of your corbomite device.”

Uhura moved to open a channel. “Hold on that,” Kirk said. “Let him sweat for a change.” He waited for a ten count, then, “Ship to ship.”

The channel opened, the captain continued, “Request denied,” then gestured to her to close the channel.

“I have visual contact, captain,” Spock said. The rubber head swirled into focus again.  
“We will soon inform you of our decision regarding your vessel. And having permitted your primitive efforts to see my form, I trust that it pleases your curiosity.”

The bubble of amusement arising from Scotty made McCoy turn his head, and he was rewarded with the sight of the man struggling to maintain his composure. Unfortunately, amusement is contagious, and McCoy, too, found himself having a hard time containing the urge to burst out laughing.

“And now,” rubber head said, “Another demonstration of our superiority.”

The door to the lift opened, and Rea Smith walked in, carrying a tray, thermos, and cups. Stealing Balok’s thunder. Nice timing, Rea. “I thought the power was out in the galley,” McCoy said.

“I used a hand phaser and zap, hot coffee,” she said. “Mind, hot coffee. Not good coffee. I couldn’t brew new. I thought, as long as we’re not all going to die just yet, we should have some refreshment. Biscuit?” She tossed McCoy an entire sleeve of shortbread cookies, bless her. He tucked them into his bag.

Sulu checked his panel. “Something’s going on, captain.”

A small ship appeared beside the larger one. Spock reported its mass at around 2000 metric tons. “It is decided that I will conduct you to a planet of the First Federation which is capable of sustaining your life form.” As Balok spoke, the giant ship shrank. On the screen, it was easy to assume that it was receding, but McCoy distinctly felt it get smaller until it was too small to perceive. “There you will disembark and be interned. Your ship will be destroyed, of course.”

“Engine systems coming on, Captain,” Spock noted.

“Do not be deceived by the size of this pilot vessel. It has an equal potential to destroy your vessel.” 

They were hit with a short, demonstrative burst from a tractor beam, one which brought the little ship within about 2000 meters. “So that you may maintain your life support systems, control of your ship has been returned to you. Escape is impossible, since you are being taken under our power to your destination. Any move to escape or destroy this ship will result in the instant destruction of the Enterprise and everyone aboard.”

Another shudder. “We’re being towed sir.”

“Jim,” McCoy said.

“Yes, Bones.”

“The big ship. It didn’t leave. It...deflated. Like a giant balloon.”

“Really?” Kirk fairly smirked.

“Now would be an excellent time to beam me and Scotty aboard that pilot ship,” McCoy said.

Kirk appeared to consider. “No. You will beam aboard with me,” he said.

“Captain, I cannot recommend…”

“One here, one there, that’s how it’s got to work,” Kirk said. “Turbolift.”

Spock and McCoy followed Kirk to the turbolift. Once they entered, Spock pulled the stop lever. “I will go, and you will stay with your ship.”

McCoy looked from one to the other, and not just with his eyes. “You two have a functioning long distance link!” 

“You surmise accurately, Doctor. It formed spontaneously last night, to both of our surprise.”

“Does that mean you two are a thing, now?”

Kirk blushed to his ears. Spock looked righteously indignant. Neither of them answered. 

McCoy said, “Send me alone. I can handle myself.”

Kirk shook his head. “No. Spock, whatever else this is, it’s also a first contact situation. I think I’ve already proven this Balok is a player. His ship, his face, all fake. I know his type and I think I showed I can beat him at his own game.”

“Very well, Captain.”

“I’m standing right here. You’re not fooling anyone,” McCoy reminded them. “Spock. We will see you soon. Get back to the bridge.”

He opened the turbolift door. Spock stepped out. Kirk closed the door and they continued on their way to the transporter room. It was about at this point that McCoy remembered just how much he hated transporters. A shuttle would definitely spoil the element of surprise, wouldn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Given that it is a canon rubber head, I feel justified in allowing the obvious jiggle you can see when Balok first speaks to be detected by the crew this time.


	5. Cultural Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and McCoy beam aboard Balok's ship and negotiate a peaceful solution.

“You’ll want to duck down, it’s cramped over there,” Scotty told the two of them. “Ceiling’s about 1.7 meters.”

Kirk and McCoy crouched on the transporter pad, bracing their hands on their knees It would not do for them to materialize with their heads inside something solid. That kind of thing would prove rapidly fatal if the safety systems didn’t simply prevent them from transporting at all.

Their bodies fizzed out of existence. It was the first time McCoy had been transported since the day his transformation began, and the experience, slowed and magnified by his augmented senses, was both horrifying and fascinating. He could feel himself, the irreducibly analog part of himself he would refer to as a soul if he were a religious man, snap free of a body that for a moment did not exist, alighting on a substance that was slick and golden, crystalline and simultaneously real and not real, as if it oscillated among planes of existence. He took note of the details of the sensation so he could discuss it later with Scotty, see if it corresponded to some specific step in the process of transport. Regardless of whether his observations illuminated transport in any useful way, he was certain it would amuse the engineer.

A nothingth of an instant later, his essence was reunited with his reconstituting brain in a small alcove within the little ship that was towing them. Kirk moved to search the ship, but McCoy stayed him with a hand on his arm. Give me a minute to count heads in here, he didn’t say. Kirk nodded, accepting readily the need to be silent on the off chance the pilot hadn’t yet noticed their presence.

And it didn’t take long. There was only one living entity here, though there was a tickling possibility that the ship itself might be a second intelligence. He held up a finger to indicate the number. That singular living being was worried. He had the impression of someone who had started something he was unsure how to finish satisfactorily. He had the tiger by its tail, and the Enterprise was the tiger.

He nodded to Kirk, who stepped through a doorway. At their first movement, the alien startled, flashed panic, but steadied itself. He couldn’t make out what it was thinking, those thoughts were at least partially shielded from him, but he couldn’t tell if that was a decision on the part of the alien or simply its nature.

In the room next to the alcove they found the crude rubber puppet Balok had used to present himself to them. They turned the corner on what to all practical purposes appeared to be a six year old child. Kirk stopped, confused.

McCoy waited. The Captain was the Captain. He had the right and frankly the training to speak first in a situation like this. McCoy was merely serving as a bodyguard, of sorts.

The alien smiled at both of them as though they were eagerly awaited houseguests. “Ah, so you have passed my tests,” he said.

“Balok, I demand that you release my ship at once,” Kirk said.

“Oh, very well, but my superiors will have it out with me if they find out I did.” He tapped a button on a console beside the couch on which he was lounging.

Kirk’s communicator blipped. He flipped it open. “Spock here. The ship has been released.”

“Understood. Stand by. We are negotiating with Balok.”

“Standing by, Captain.” The channel closed.

He grew thoughtful, relaxed ever so slightly as he realized that neither Kirk nor McCoy had attempted to harm him yet. “Mind telling your pet demigod to quit groping me?”

“You have threatened my crew, damaged my ship, and are now dragging it off to parts unknown in what can only be described as an act of war and you would like us to be more polite?”

“Certainly, Captain. We are not, after all, savages. And you, McCoy, are annoying.”

“Four hundred thirty cases of acute radiation poisoning.” McCoy said.

“Pardon me?”

“Before the captain was forced to destroy your probe, it irradiated the ship with enough high energy gamma and X-rays to severely injure everyone aboard. I do not have enough resources to do more than mitigate the damage until such time as we can get the ship to a well equipped Starbase, by which time the entire crew will be vomiting, losing their hair, and have virtually no functioning immune system.”

“And this is why you destroyed my probe?”

“A few seconds longer and we would all be dead men walking right now. Without proper treatment at a Starbase, about a quarter of us already are.”

“This region of the First Federation’s borders are not often visited by alien vessels. Hence, the resources allocated here are correspondingly small. ” Balok looked down at his own slight body and chuckled at his own joke. “My government compensates by placing remotes to discourage incursions. I have been alone out here for a long time, Captain, Doctor. Your ship provided the most excitement I have seen in over a year.” He punched a few buttons on a console beside his cushioned couch. A bowl of some kind of punch emerged.

“Do share a beverage with me?” He said. McCoy wondered whether punching his smug little face was an option. Probably not. The little alien’s intentions didn’t seem harmful at present, but McCoy didn’t trust him to know the difference between refreshment and poison for a human. McCoy concentrated on the punch to run what he was starting to think of as his internal tricorder. Sugars, some aromatic hydrocarbons, none of them toxic, a little citric acid. “It’s safe,” he told the Captain.

“None too trusting, are you,” Balok said.

“You pretended to be a rubber head. Inside a giant balloon.” Kirk took a sip of the peach colored beverage. “And your civilization’s probe device tried to kill my crew.” He was sitting back on one of the small cushions ranged around the room, but his air of relaxation was an act. He was assessing the little man, trying to figure out what he might get in return for his inconvenience.

“My race is old. We rule this territory, don’t get me wrong, but we do not risk most of our number on these distant patrols. Might I suggest a cultural exchange?”

“Excuse me?” Kirk asked. “I’m not sure I understand what you are asking.”

“As I said, my race is old. We have amassed a great deal of knowledge that would be worth sharing. For a simple example, I believe the memory banks of this ship contain information that may be used to concoct a more effective remedy for radiation damage than you currently have available to you. Which I give you now as a show of goodwill. He tapped a few more keys on the device by his couch, waited, tapped another combination. “There.”

“It has been loaded into the memory bank of your portable sensor device,” he told McCoy. 

McCoy took a moment to check the memory banks to determine the veracity of Balok’s claim. “Thank you. That does some to make up for the damage you caused.” He pulled himself mostly back inside his shields as a reciprocal gesture, leaving himself open enough to detect any immediate threat...though his shields weren’t really good enough yet to completely seal Balok out anyway.

“And thank you,” Balok said. “Your continued rudeness was distracting. Now, about that cultural exchange. A member of your crew. Two, perhaps? Placed on, what would you call it, detached duty, for a time that we might learn from each other.”

McCoy turned to Kirk. “He’s not lying about being lonely. It’s pretty isolated out here.” He did wonder exactly why Balok had been chosen for what had to be a less than plum assignment.

“Would you be interested in visiting our ship?” Kirk offered.

“I fear I cannot. I am physically, and I fear, psychically too delicate to risk spending time in such a crowded and...ah...gravitationally challenging environment. You may have noticed that the gravity on this vessel is only about two thirds the gravity on yours.”

McCoy ran the crew roster through his head. “Paulie Ferguson.” he said. “Science division, xenosociology. Also not even a meter and a half tall and very chatty.”

Kirk nodded. “And...Tranh, I think. Materials science. I think a chemist wouldn’t be a bad choice. And he’s not tall either, I recall. Not being able to stand up in most of the ship would get old quickly. If they agree to go. This is not the kind of duty I’d want to order anyone into. Our Federation will undoubtedly want to enter more formal negotiations with your First Federation before long. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

“I have no doubt of that.”

 

Kirk and McCoy returned to the Enterprise to make their offer to the crewmembers they had chosen. Paulie agreed enthusiastically, Tranh only after he found out she would be accompanying him.

McCoy pulled her aside in the transporter room while they were making preparations. Each had been granted time to gather their personal effects. “Paulie,” he said. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t mention this, but as you may be sharing close quarters for quite some time, I think you should know Tranh is sweet on you.”

She grinned. “I know.”

Tranh arrived carrying his own small duffel. They both hopped up onto the transporter pad. Scott looked them over. “You two will fit just fine over there.”

Kirk addressed them both. “We haven’t seen any indication that Balok means either of you any harm. He has demonstrated the technology to cure any residual effects of radiation exposure and is interested in cultural exchange. You will be expected to check in via subspace radio daily when in range. This is a first contact situation, I expect you both to be on your best behavior.

Paulie smiled at Tranh and flipped her hair. Tranh blushed scarlet. They both disappeared in a shimmer of gold.

McCoy turned to Kirk. “Did you know that Tranh was crushing on her?”

“Everyone knows,” Kirk said.

By his own scorecard, McCoy counted himself at two for two, though he figured he had to share credit with Kirk for this one. Maybe he should take up matchmaking as a second career.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this ending is a little more satisfactory to me than the completely illogical original, but I feel I must make a couple of additional remarks about it.
> 
> First: What did Balok do to get exiled to outer podunkia by himself to patrol a basically empty border? Is he as useless as Bailey?
> 
> Second: Isn't cultural exchange a euphemism for interspecies romantic experimentation. I'm just sayin'. In the original, did Kirk fix Bailey up with Balok?
> 
> Third: If this thing inspires any pairings or triads, you're welcome to them. I can't write them, because Balok is portrayed by Ron Howard's baby brother and I can't not see him as a six year old boy.
> 
> Fourth: Comments are great. I love them and I repay them by trying to read the commenters work, if it's in English. And I think I'll take an idea from another writer out there and say hey, comments with prompts in them are fun, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments really welcome. Just for fun, be the first to catch any semi-obscure references to other episodes or such.


End file.
